Secrets Kill
by apreslapetitmort
Summary: Santana and Rachel have a secret. Secrets can kill.
1. I Know

**Drabble. Short. Terrible. Might continue, depending. Something to do before Christmas. I suck at these things.  
>_-<strong>

"Put it down, B," Santana whispered, looking her fiancée in the eye, "just put the gun down, and we can talk about this."

Brittany's arm quivered, but her stance remained solid. "No," she growled, "we can't, not anymore." All at once, the blonde's hard front dissolved, and she sank to her knees. She looked up, after her sobs had subisded into hiccups. Through a haze of tears she saw brown hair, brown eyes, and a terrible argyle sweater.

"W-we're sorry, Britt. We really are. We didn't mean for you to find out like thi-" Rachel's words were drowned in a sudden blast.

Brittany slumped against the small, Jewish girl, her breathing laboured, "It… doesn't… matter. I still… foun…"

"B?" Santana ran toward her lovers, a bed sheet barely keeping her modesty, "Britt? Duckie?" She threw Rachel out of the way, took the blonde into her arms, and all too quickly her eyes fell on the scarlet stain, sneaking it's way across her sweetheart's stomach.

"You didn't tell her?" Rachel stood, slowly, pulling her skirt down as she did, "You didn't tell her what we were d-"

"SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP, BERRY!"

"I thought she knew! That's why I came he-"

"I SAID SHUT YOUR MOUTH!"

Silence, for what seemed hours, until a pair of Hush Puppies made their way across the apartment floor, and out of the door. Dusk turned to dawn, and two figures stay in their place, one unable to move, one too afraid to admit the reality that would come crashing around her all too soon.


	2. Reality

**Uh. Yeah. This is a confusing story. But bare with me. It'll get easier to understand soon enough. I hope. I'm trying to work it out as I go along. Flimsy plotlines ftw. Or not. Heh.  
>_-<strong>

"I always thought she knew..."  
>"I know, honey, I know."<br>Quinn cradled her girlfriend, her arms and legs wrapped around her, scared that if she let the world in, the small brunette would be crushed. She'd known, of course, about Santana and Rachel. It was the whole reason they'd gotten the apartment with the spare bedroom. It was the biggest factor for them staying on the outskirts of New York, despite Rachel's career needing her in the heart of the city that never sleeps. They'd been seeing each other for 3 years, on and off. Rachel was never monogamous, Quinn was never too bothered. Brittany, it turned out, was. Whilst Quinn Fabray comforted her sweetheart, another couple in an apartment were saying their goodbyes...

"I'm sorry, baby," Santana whispered, for the thousandth time, her tears still falling onto her old lover's face. The floor was stained purple, as were the two girls, yet neither seemed to mind. With a final sob, Santana lay her fiancee's head on to a pillow, and stumbled to the phone. Shaking fingers dialed halted numbers.  
>"H-Hello? I need... I don't know... My... My Brittany... She's..." Fresh screams ripped through the Lima Heights girl, as her knees gave way and she fell to the floor, the phone clutched to her ear like if she let go, she'd let go of everything else.<br>"Ma'am?" A voice on the other end of the phone spoke, "Would you like an ambulance?"  
>Eventually, Santana quitened her sobs and strengthened her voice, "I... think so."<br>She gave her address, rocking back and forth, pressing her knuckles to her mouth whenever she was spoken to.  
>"I-I'm sorry, I have to go, the door is open, tell them to just come up."<br>Steely determination propelled her to the bathroom before reality hit her, and the bottom of the bowl.  
>A lifetime passed, and eventually there was a slight knock at the door.<br>"Miss Lopez? We recieved a call..."  
>"Come in."<br>The door opened, far too slowly, and everything happened in miniscule detail. Santana saw... everything. She saw them touch her, lift her, move her, brush her hair from her face, place bandages on the stain. And then she heard,  
>"We need you to come with us."<br>"But why?"  
>A uniformed woman stepped into the room, "Santana Lopez, we are arresting you on the suspicion of murder."<br>Murder? Brittany? Santana, kill her own beloved? How could they think such a thing? Cuffs were placed onto her wrists, she was being manhandled, but the only thing she registered was the accusation that she'd killed her sweetheart. She had. She may as well have pulled the trigger.

"I did it," Santana whispered, to the back of the officer's head, "I killed my Brittany." Once more, reality sunk in, and flung itself to the car's floor.

**Dun dun duuuuun. Yeah. Uhm. I write short stuff. Always have, always will. Sorry guys. I hope you still love me.**


End file.
